WEEP no more, nor sigh, nor groan, Sorrow calls no time that 's gone: Violets pluck'd, the sweetest rain Makes not fresh nor grow again. Trim thy locks, look cheerfully; Fate's hid ends eyes cannot see. Joys as winged dreams fly fast, Why should sadness longer last? Grief is but a wound to woe; Gentlest fair, mourn, mourn no moe. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GRAND ARMY PLAZA by KAREN SWENSON HYMN TO GOD MY GOD, IN MY SICKNESS by JOHN DONNE THE WAVING OF THE CORN by SIDNEY LANIER THE BABY, FR. AT THE BACK OF THE NORTH WIND by GEORGE MACDONALD SEVEN SAD SONNETS: 1. THE HAPPENING by MARY REYNOLDS ALDIS RECALLED by WILLIAM ROSE BENET TO F.A.B., A VIRTUOUS YOUNG PHYSICIAN ABOUT TO PRACTISE by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB |